If Wishes Were Horses
by JosephineLL
Summary: Malcolm dreams of what could be between him and Hoshi.
1. Chapter One

Title: If Wishes Were Horses  
  
Author: Josephine  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Genre: Romance, of the cheesy kind  
  
Pairing: S/R  
  
Summary: Malcolm dreams of what could be between him and Hoshi  
  
Notes: This is in answer to a challenge on 'The Linguistics Database'. What would be the 'aftermath' of Malcolm and Hoshi's miscommunication in 'Silent Enemy'.  
  
Disclaimer: Paramount owns the Trek dance hall; I like to conduct the band once in awhile.  
  
  
  
Chapter One  
  
Malcolm came out of the shower, toweling off his hair. :::This was probably the best birthday I've ever had.::: He smiled thinking about the mix up between him and Hoshi, and just because she wanted to know his favorite food.  
  
:::I made an ass over myself on that one.::: Malcolm's reaction to Hoshi's supposed overtures was more a defensive mechanism than an actual reluctance to get involved with the Linguist. He threw himself down on his bunk.  
  
:::Face it, chum, you *would like to get involved with Hoshi.::: Malcolm's mind started wandering over memories of Hoshi. :::Like I'd have a chance. She obviously doesn't think of me that way, the fiasco in the mess hall proved that.::: Malcolm pulled a blanket up and drifted off to sleep, still thinking of Hoshi.  
  
--------  
  
A knight on a wagon pulled by a warhorse came up to the castle gate.  
  
"Who goes there?" floated down from the battlements.  
  
"I am Malcolm, Earl of Reed, come to vie for the hand of the Princess Hoshi! Open the gate and let me in!"  
  
Malcolm heard muttering followed by a muffled "Open the gate!" Slowly the two great doors opened. As he passed through the portcullis, the Earl of Reed could feel everyone's eyes upon him. "He's a knight? Where's his squire?" Questions that Malcolm had previously heard a hundred times swirled around him. They never bothered him before, but now … now that he was competing for the only woman he would ever love, they stung like nettles.  
  
A man in the King's uniform came running up to him. "I'm Captain Jones, of the King's guard, and I'm running this show. You're the last one here, you get lot 4." Jones looked at Malcolm alone on the wagon. "You it, then?" he finally said.  
  
"I am it, then. If you'll excuse me." Slapping the reins, Malcolm moved the wagon through the crowd. Reaching his assigned spot, he started unloading the wagon.  
  
"Well met, Reed! We wasn't sure to expect you or not!" Malcolm looked over to see Jonathan, Duke of Archer, drinking wine with Travis, Baron Mayweather.  
  
Malcolm warily nodded back. "Archer, Mayweather."  
  
"Ho, my lords! I see we're all here now!" Charles, Marquess of Tucker came up behind Malcolm.  
  
"Been ogling the wenches, Tucker?" Mayweather said with a leer.  
  
"You know me too well, Mayweather. How could I pass up a fine opportunity like this." He grinned back at the men, while at the same time passing a connoisseur's eye over the crowd.  
  
Malcolm didn't say anything and went back to unloading the wagon.  
  
"The Queen! The Queen!" Malcolm looked up at the sound of a carriage as the crowd surged forward to get a glimpse of the Queen and Princess. Hopping up on the wagon wheel, he could see that Queen T'Pol was seated on his side of crowd. Quickly moving up the road, he crossed it to be on the Princess' side. Malcolm bowed with the rest of the masses, but raised his head when the carriage moved closer, his eyes meeting the Princess'. His heart constricted, she looked so sad and lonely. Losing her father after his long illness, having a mother who became more and more emotionally distant as the King's health declined, and finally being given away as a prize to the knight who won the throne in this tournament. Malcolm searched for any sign of recognition from Princess Hoshi, but not even a flicker of her eye indicated she had seen him. Sighing, he watched the carriage pull into the castle proper, and made his way back to his tent.  
  
"Hoshi's a delectable armful, don't you think?" Tucker took a swig of wine. "A nice little bonus to winning the throne." Archer and Mayweather laughed with him as they saluted the Princess.  
  
Malcolm could barely keep his temper in check. Bad enough that Hoshi would go to someone else if he lost, but to be the wife of one of those boors …. He checked that everything he needed was unloaded from the wagon and secured in the tent. Especially that banded chest. Weapons were a hobby of Malcolm's he had a few of his favorites in there that hopefully would give him the upper hand in the coming tournament. Taking his horse and wagon to the stable, he arranged for their keep. Giving Porthos a pat on the nose, he wandered through the crowd until dinnertime.  
  
Malcolm had finished eating and was cleaning up when Captain Jones came up leading an older boy. "I have a squire for you, my lord."  
  
"I don't need a squire, Captain." Malcolm didn't look up.  
  
"Princess Hoshi insists."  
  
Malcolm's hands stilled. Keeping his voice even, he asked, "Princess Hoshi insists?"  
  
"Yes, my lord. She does not want anyone to have an undue advantage over anyone else in the tournament."  
  
"I see." The hope that had sprung up in Malcolm's breast died a little. He glanced at the boy. "Are you any good?"  
  
The boy swallowed nervously. "Yes, my lord, at least, I think so, my lord." He looked like he was going to faint.  
  
"What's your name?"  
  
"Nigel Cutler, my lord."  
  
Malcolm looked at him a while longer. "All right. Thank you, Captain."  
  
"My lord." The Captain moved off.  
  
"Well, Nigel, there isn't much left to do tonight, have you eaten?"  
  
"…yes, my lord." Nigel's stomach growled.  
  
"But as I recall, boys are perpetually hungry. There's some bread and cheese if you'd like it."  
  
"Thank you, my lord!" Nigel fell on the food, devouring it quickly.  
  
"What news do you have of the castle?" Malcolm asked casually.  
  
"Everyone is wondering who will win the tournament and be the new King." Nigel mumbled around the cheese. "No one can tell what the Queen thinks, she has become like a statue. And the Princess cries herself to sleep every night."  
  
Malcolm's breath caught. "Oh?"  
  
"Yes, my sister Beth is the Princess' maid. Beth says that the Princess has a locket she never takes off and holds to her cheek when she's sleeping."  
  
"Sounds like the Princess is in love."  
  
Nigel rolled his eyes, but not so Malcolm could see. "Elizabeth and I think so too, my lord."  
  
"Does anyone else know of this?" Malcolm's glace slid over to the others knight's camps.  
  
Nigel followed the look. "No, my lord, no one else."  
  
"Good. Keep it that way."  
  
"Of course, my lord."  
  
"I'm turning in. There are extra blankets in the tent."  
  
"Good night, my lord."  
  
  
  
Chapter two coming soon … 


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two  
  
Late the next morning Captain Jones came up the knights. "Her Majesty the Queen requests your presence in the throne room in one hour, my lords."  
  
"Tell Her Majesty we would be honored to attend her," Archer ponderously answered.  
  
Tucker watched the Captain of the Guard walk away. "I wonder what this is all about."  
  
"We will soon find out. If you will excuse us, we have to start getting ready." Archer strolled off. Tucker looked after Captain Jones for a moment, then went to his own tent.  
  
"That royal 'We' gets annoying after awhile, doesn't it?" Mayweather said.  
  
"He is the grandson of a King." Malcolm's voice was neutral.  
  
"And will be a King if he has his way." Mayweather laughed and clapped Malcolm on the back. "But not if we have our way, eh, my lord?"  
  
Malcolm gave him a wintery smile. "No, not if I have my way."  
  
--------  
  
An hour later, Archer led the four knights into the throne room, coming to stand in front of the Queen.  
  
"Your Majesty, your Highness." Archer bowed before the women, the others following. Malcolm surreptitiously glanced at the Princess. She was pale, but looked more at peace with herself.  
  
He looked back at the Queen as she began to speak. "We thank you for coming. We have changed the rules succession, becoming the next king is now not only contingent on the results of the tournament, but upon winning the affection of our daughter. After the tournament, she will pick the knight that will become her husband, the King. To this effect, we will be holding a ball tonight along with the banquet. Until then."  
  
Everyone bowed as the Queen rose and left the throne room, Princess Hoshi trailing behind. None of the knights said anything until they got back to their camp.  
  
"Letting a mere chit decide who will become the nest King?! That's ridiculous!" Archer threw himself into his chair, calling for wine.  
  
"Don't think you'll cut it, my lord?" Tucker grinned. "At least this gives me a chance now. Combat was never my strong suit, but I have an easy hand with the ladies, if I do say so myself."  
  
Malcolm left the three knights to talk about the newest twist to capturing the crown. :::At least she'll end up with someone she wants.::: Opening the banded chest, he sat down to hone an already razor sharp blade.  
  
--------  
  
Wandering the edges of the dance floor, Malcolm tried to watch the Princess without being obvious about it. He had danced once already with her, but the movements of the estampie didn't allow for much conversation. Any conversation, in fact; they spent the entire dance in silence. It was only after Malcolm brought her back to the Queen and kissed her hand that the Princess gave her thanks to him.  
  
:::Two more sets, then it's my turn again.::: Malcolm hoped the Princess would be willing to sit this one out. It was the rondeau, which Malcolm had never been able to master. But it was the only dance left on her card, and he took it. It could have been a Scottish sword dance and he still would have taken it.  
  
Malcolm waited unobtrusively by the Queen, waiting for the sets to be over. Finally Lord Hefflelump led the Princess back to her mother.  
  
"My dance, I believe." Malcolm took her hand, walking toward the figures on the dance floor.  
  
"Lord Reed, do you mind if we walk along the terrace? The rondeau has never been a favorite of mine."  
  
"Of course not, Princess."  
  
Later, Malcolm couldn't remember what they discussed. He only remembered the gentle, melodious sound of her voice in the half-light of the terrace, and the scent of roses. Suddenly he was brought back to the present.  
  
"The set is ending, I must get back to the Queen. Thanks you, Lord Reed, you've been most kind." With a swirl of skirts the Princess was gone.  
  
Malcolm stood in the shadows of the terrace, watching the merriment within. He felt reluctant to join them and break the spell of her voice. He vaulted over the stone railing to the gardens below and made his way back to his tent.  
  
------  
  
The next day found everyone at a fevered pitch. Everyone except the Earl of Reed. Malcolm had thoroughly prepared for this day, and he knew there was nothing else he could do. Strapping on his plate mail, he was calm, almost detached.  
  
Nigel kept looking at him. "Are you alright, my lord?"  
  
"I'm fine, Nigel." Nigel didn't look convinced.  
  
"They're ready for you, my lord." Captain Jones called over to Malcolm.  
  
Malcolm climbed up onto Porthos, and took his lance from Nigel. The lance had special modifications, he had placed metal bands along the length to help prevent it from shattering. Malcolm had spent many hours looking over the tournament rules to make sure his changes were legal. He was scrupulously honest man, and didn't want to be accused of cheating.  
  
"Sometimes they can be the difference between life and death," he told Nigel when asked about his modifications.  
  
:::Or something more important.::: he thought, looking at the Princess and saluting the Queen.  
  
Malcolm and Mayweather faced each other at either end of the jousting arena. A trumpet sounded, and the two knights galloped at each other, lances crashing against shields. The cradle that Malcolm had built into his saddle helped to keep his lance steady and hit Mayweather's shield dead on. The force of the blow knocked Mayweather head over heels off his horse to land on his back.  
  
Bringing Porthos around to where Nigel was waiting, Malcolm dismounted and took up his mace. This was modified also; the ball had a lead core for weight and force with a steel outer shell and spikes for strength. He waited until Mayweather had gotten himself situated before advancing.  
  
This part of the fight was as short as the first, three blows of the mace and Mayweather's weapon spun from his hand and his shield was shattered. Mayweather threw down the pieces and flipped up the visor of his helmet.  
  
"Yield! Travis, Baron Mayweather yields to thee, Malcolm, Earl of Reed!" The ritual surrender had the crowd on their feet.  
  
Malcolm saluted Mayweather, then Queen T'Pol and Princess Hoshi. Walking over to Nigel, he gave him the shield and mace and took off his helmet; then made his way back to his camp. Archer had defeated Tucker earlier in the morning; Malcolm would face the Duke in the afternoon. Reaching his tent, Malcolm unbuckled his armor and laid down to rest. His match with Archer wouldn't be as easy as the one against Mayweather. 


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three  
  
Malcolm calmly sat upon Porthos, watching Jonathan, Duke of Archer at the other end of the jousting arena. He could hear the noise of the crowd through his helm and see the pennants flying in the breeze through his visor, but all his attention was on the Duke. Malcolm knew this fight could get nasty. Jonathan was a seasoned campaigner of the dead King fighting against the Welsh and Saxons. The old fox was crafty, but Malcolm hoped his modified weapons would give him the edge.  
  
The Duke was having trouble getting his mount to settle down. Malcolm gave a wry grin at the old trick; the prancing, snorting horse was supposed to get him nervous, put him on edge. Malcolm was prepared for that, and had settled into a meditative trance.  
  
Suddenly the Duke had control of his horse and the trumpet sounded. Porthos exploded forward, the two horses meeting well within the Duke's half of the arena. Once more knights came together in a crash of metal, at this meeting both of them kept their seat. The Duke's lance had shattered; as he went to get a new one so did Malcolm. Returning to the opposite side of the area from where they started, the trumpet's call brought them together for a second time. Again the Duke's lance shattered, again they chose new ones and faced off across the arena.  
  
Malcolm decided to change tactics, hitting Jonathan's shield slightly off center in a hope to knock him sideways from his horse. The Duke was too solid to go head over heels like the smaller Baron Mayweather. The Earl of Reed adjusted his lance and galloped toward his adversary.  
  
Quickly turning Porthos around after passing the other knight, Malcolm saw Jonathan slowly slide off his horse. While the force of the lance wasn't enough to knock him off, it was sufficient to set the Duke off balance. Once that happened, gravity and the weight of the plate armor did the rest. Trotting over to Nigel, Malcolm dismounted and picked up a new shield and his mace.  
  
This time Archer didn't bother with niceties. He came out swinging. Malcolm's arm was soon becoming numb from the blows to his shield. He waited until Archer had committed himself to another blow, then came with a backhand to strike at Archer's exposed flank.  
  
The hit caused Archer to step back, allowing Reed to begin his own volley of blows. Archer kept falling back, but now Malcolm couldn't get past his large shield. The fight went on like this for twenty minutes, back and forth, neither side keeping the advantage.  
  
Malcolm knew it had to end soon. The heat and his bulky armor were getting to him. Plate was not conducive to fighting on foot, a knight's horse was supposed to carry the weight of all that metal. Archer was a bigger man; he was going to win this round. If the tournament had been the only thing determining who would win the throne, and therefore Princess Hoshi, he would have kept fighting, even if it had killed him. But since the rules had been changed …. Malcolm had to put his hope in the Princess, even though she had given him no sign of encouragement.  
  
He stepped back and dropped his mace, lifting his visor. Malcolm could barley hear himself give the ritual surrender over the roar of the audience. He and Archer saluted the royal box, Archer waving to the crowd as he made his way back to his tent. Malcolm wearily walked back to where Nigel was waiting.  
  
"Are you alright, my lord?" Nigel looked at Malcolm, concern on his face.  
  
"I'm fine. Tired, hot, and hungry; but fine. I need a bath."  
  
"Of course my lord, right away."  
  
Fifteen minutes later, Malcolm slipped into the hot water, groaning as his muscles protested. He didn't care what they said, soaking in hot water wasn't going to kill any one.  
  
Nigel came in with a towels and a change of clothes. "The banquet starts in five hours, my lord."  
  
"Time enough for a nap. Wake me in four." Malcolm didn't feel like joining the impromptu celebration for Archer outside the tents. After the water had cooled Malcolm got out and lay on his cot, dreaming again of the Princess Hoshi.  
  
--------  
  
Promptly four hours later Nigel came to wake him. Malcolm put on what little finery he had, then went to the banded chest and pulled out his most prized possession. It was a broadsword, the culmination of years of research. The blade was thousands upon thousands of thin layers of metal, hard steel for strength alternating with soft steel for flexibility. To get a sharp edge, Malcolm had covered the blade with clay, leaving the edges exposed, and heated the sword until the metal glowed just the precise shade he wanted. Then he plunged the heated blade into water, the exposed edge cooling instantly while the rest of the blade, protected by the clay, cooled slowly. Malcolm ended up with a sword blade of soft flexible metal enclosed in a thin layer of hard steel. A finger's breadth of its edge was made of metal so hard that it held a razor sharpness even after repeated use. It was his masterpiece, yet he was already thinking of ways to improve on it.  
  
Sliding the sword into the scabbard, Malcolm buckled it around his waist. Nigel helped him to fasten his cape over his mail, then stepped back.  
  
"Well? Will it do for the Queen?"  
  
"You look fine, my lord. Good luck." Nigel smiled.  
  
Malcolm gave him a twisted smile. "Thanks." He stepped outside the tent to see Mayweather and Tucker waiting.  
  
"Good, you're here. Now Archer will show up. You know how he likes to make an entrance." Mayweather hid a grin as Tucker's comment hit home. With a practiced nonchalance Archer stepped from his tent.  
  
"All ready? Let's go, then." Archer strode off, the sun flashing off his armor and his cape billowing in the breeze. :::Pompous ass …::: Malcolm couldn't help but think. The rest of the knights followed according to rank, filing into the throne room again to face the Queen and Princess.  
  
"We congratulate all our knights on a battle well fought today. We are pleased to have such noble warriors in our service. Our daughter, Princess Hoshi, will now choose my beloved husband's successor to the throne, and her consort." Queen T'Pol gestured to the Princess, who rose and looked at each of the knights in turn.  
  
"The knight that I choose to be my husband and the future King of England is Malcolm, Earl of …"  
  
"NEVER!!" The Duke Of Archer's bellow echoed through the cavernous room. Pushing the Marquess of Tucker out of the way, the Duke drew his sword and came after Malcolm. Swiftly unsheathing his own weapon, Malcolm moved to the middle of the room as the other Lords and Ladies fled to the edges.  
  
This time Archer was going for the kill. This was no tournament to while away the days between battles. This was a battle itself, a fight to the death for the throne of England. Malcolm went on the defensive, blocking Archer's swings, waiting for the older man to make a mistake.  
  
The Duke was getting more and more enraged as Malcolm parried over and over again without attacking. Archer was blinded by his anger and finally made his mistake, overextending his reach to get more power into his blow.  
  
Malcolm took the opening, sidestepping and thrusting up; his sword passing through Archer's plate armor like it was water. The Duke just stared down at the sword protruding from his body, disbelief on his face.  
  
The crowd at first didn't understand what happened, conventional broadswords were used against an armored knight by beating the victim enough to cause internal trauma, killing by hemorrhaging. Malcolm only got one blow to Archer. Then they saw the Duke's weapon clatter to the ground, and Malcolm pull his bloody sword cleanly out of the other man's chest.  
  
Malcolm, Earl of Reed watched Jonathan, Duke of Archer topple over, his eyes staring blankly, dead. Turning to the rest of the nobles, Malcolm looked them over.  
  
"Her Highness Princess Hoshi has chosen her consort, the new King! Are there any else here that question her choice?"  
  
The Princess came down off the dais, walking up to Malcolm. "You have indeed proven yourself worthy, good Sir Knight."  
  
The crowd bowed as one, then burst into cheers as the Earl swept the Princess into his arms and kissed her soundly.  
  
--------  
  
Malcolm Reed, Lieutenant Commander of the starship Enterprise, woke suddenly at the sound of his alarm. He passed a hand over his face at the memory of his dream. :::Too vivid by half.::: He got out of bed, walking into the bathroom and staring at the mirror.  
  
Instead of seeing himself, however, Malcolm was remembering his Scottish maternal great grandmother; a woman whom everyone claimed had the sight. "Dreams are important, Malcolm," she would tell him, "Dreams are wishes our hearts make, and dreams can foretell the future. Don't dismiss any dreams you have, my sweet."  
  
Malcolm hadn't. When he started dreaming about Star Fleet instead of the Royal Navy, it had given him the courage to stand up to his father. His dreams had led him here, to the Enterprise, the flagship of the fleet. He wasn't about to start dismissing them now. Quickly getting dressed, Malcolm went to the mess hall, arriving slightly ahead of Hoshi.  
  
"I wanted to thank you for the cake," he said, waiting for her to finish picking out her breakfast.  
  
"It was fun. You're quite a difficult man to figure out, Lieutenant," she replied with a smile.  
  
"Maybe to some. How about over here?" Malcolm guided her to a table at the edge of the room.  
  
They had been talking for a few minutes what Trip came up to their table with a tray. "Boy howdy, I'm hungry," he said, setting the tray down.  
  
Malcolm kicked him under the table. "What th'?" Trip looked over at Malcolm. Malcolm barely shook his head, angling it slightly at Hoshi.  
  
"I thought you were having breakfast with the Captain. We understand if you can't eat with us." Malcolm hoped that Trip would get the hint. He could be as dense as the warp core shielding sometimes. He cocked his head at Hoshi again.  
  
"The Captain! Right! Totally forgot. See ya." Trip winked at Malcolm as he left. Malcolm sighed.  
  
"You could have just told him to go away." Hoshi smiled at the suddenly flustered officer in front of her.  
  
"I … um … didn't want to be obvious." Malcolm was sure he was blushing.  
  
"I'm a linguist, remember? What are you up to?"  
  
"I was thinking about the mix up last night and realized I handled it badly. I would like to … well …" Malcolm knew he was blushing now.  
  
Hoshi was silent a moment. "Casablanca is showing tonight, want to go?"  
  
--------  
  
The End 


End file.
